A Memory of Things

This pot (amoti) is the fridge in my parent’s home in Serere. It’s served faithfully since I was a little girl. I had never seen a pot so huge. I could literally hide behind it in a game of “tapo” and no one would find me. When the water levels were low, my feet dangled as I tried to scoop up a drink of water. Surprising how much it shrunk since.

Once the pot is smoked, it yields the sweetest, coolest water at the perfect temperature. It’s reassuring to find it in the corner of the corridor.

So much has changed and yet so much remains the same. 

Race and the Ugandan in America

He is dark, 5ft 7 inches. On most days he’ll wear a hoodie and a pair of jeans. As I watch him walk to the bus I think, there goes my baby – my Japadhola/Mufumbira/ Etesot. A Ugandan boy who holds no grudges for his ethnicity. In the world we live in, he is a “Young black man!” - not the description I would use for my son, but like the police here would say – “he fits the profile.” Can one tell that he is not an angry black man when he walks into a store with a hoodie? In moving to America I exchanged one set of issues for another.

Walking Miles for the Vulnerable

"As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path , we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path , we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives." Henry David Thoreau

Walking is therapeutic and magical. It clears the mind and strengthens the body, make that walk for a cause and you've made life more meaningful. I stumbled upon a young man who has made an art of it. Mile by mile, little town after little town he plans to walk through Uganda to raise awareness on issues that affect the poor and disadvantaged in his community. I was curious to know what got him on this journey. In the corner of the office library one cold January afternoon Edwin Barungi shared his story. Thanks to a good what'sapp connection an hour went by swiftly.

It was our first conversation but that didn't get in the way.  An exchange of a few pleasantries got us onto the right footing. “Let me tell you my story" he said, "I was born in Nsambya hospital. My only sibling died at the age of five. I lost both my parents to AIDS when I was eight years old.” He didn't hold back. I listened in silence as his story tagged at my heart. Between primary one and seven Edwin had attended thirteen different schools.

Moon and Venus Duet on First Night Sky of 2017

I looked up into the first night sky of 2017, the moon and Venus illuminated the sky. I thought of God's faithfulness, His beauty, His power. He is a good good father and an awesome artist too.

May God's light shine in your life to show you the way. May He lead you by day and by night.

Happy New Year!

When Blind Leads Blind

It was 7pm, I rounded the street corner and saw two people with walking canes having a conversation. I slowed down when I realized they were both blind. I had lots of questions: How did they get around? Was it a case of the blind leading the blind?

I walked past and shortly after they walked in my direction. In the frenzy of traffic and people on the busy streets, they stopped. 

The lady waved and said “excuse me”. 

“We are trying to get to block 1725”

Thankfully it was a few steps away. I was going that way so I said sure.

She held my elbow and the guy held her elbow and we walked.

The independence and empowerment for people with different abilities here is incredible.  I was reminded of the little helpers I used to see on Kampala road. 

No matter where we are, we need each other.